


There's Nothing Ironic About Mahogany

by starlightonmars



Category: Glee, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightonmars/pseuds/starlightonmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Glee/ The Hunger Games cross-over fic. After a failed uprising in the districts of Lima, each year twelve boys and twelve girls are selected to compete in a fight to the death in a specially created, deadly arena. The tributes this year have bonded closely, but only one can survive The Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Santana Lopez groaned, and shifted restlessly in her bed. Two days to go. The soft warmth of her pillows masked the dangers that awaited her, but she was determined to make the most of it. In a few days she might be sleeping in a damp cave, or worse, dead. There was a knock at the door, and the matron, a motherly figure named Carole, entered.

“Come on Santana,” she said. “Everybody else is up, and breakfast is ready.”

She attempted her best smile, but it never quite reached her eyes. Every year she watched a group of new kids come and go, and she knew that pretty soon almost all of them would be dead. Santana rubbed away the sleep from her eyes, and climbed out of bed. Carole took her pile of washing from its place on the floor, and left the room. Santana moved to the window, and surveyed the gardens outside. The house they would reside in until the beginning of the Games was large, big enough for everyone to feel isolated, and the grounds were no different. Vast fields, an orchard, even a small stone quarry – little reminders of home.

Home meant something different to each of them. There were twelve districts that made up the majority of Lima. In the centre of them all was the Capitol, led by President Figgins, who ruled all of the lower districts with an iron fist. There were once thirteen districts, but, many years ago, there was a great rebellion, and, as a punishment, the thirteenth district was destroyed. As a yearly reminder of this attempt to overthrow the Capitol, two children, a girl and a boy, aged between fifteen and eighteen, from each district were chosen to participate in The Hunger Games – a deadly fight to the death broadcast throughout Lima.

For Santana, home meant the roar of wind turbines, solar panels littering the roofs of houses, and the odd nuclear testing facility. She was from District 5, which was responsible for supplying the whole of Lima with power. The male tribute from District 5 was Jesse St. James, a mysterious boy, who lived not far from Santana. They’d attended the same school as young children, as their parents did before them, but, until now, they’d barely spoken. Usually it was the other way round – the tributes from the same district would have probably laughed and played together as children, and would now act as though they were complete strangers, preparing to kill each other. But this year, for some reason, was different.

It baffled the people of Lima, who viewed the whole experience of the Games on televisions in their districts. This year, most of the tributes had bonded, seemingly over a love of music, and appeared to be close. Those in charge at the Capitol initially viewed this as dangerous – the districts did not have contact with each other, and showing these twenty-four children bonding could have inspired another rebellion – but this quickly gave way to the realisation that this would make the Games even more exciting. There’s something extra heart-breaking about watching friends kill each other.

Santana left her room, her bare feet padding quietly on the thick, crimson carpet. Along the corridor, the cold faces of the Games’ previous winners stood out from illustrious portraits. Santana particularly admired one, a fierce looking girl from District 7 named Terri Del Monico, who had one almost fifteen years ago in a particularly spectacular and deadly version of the Games, where the tributes battled not only each other, but large, venomous scorpions, all whilst avoiding great pools and lakes of spitting lava. Santana was only two at the time, but the stories of the best and the worst were passed down to this day. One particularly bad tribute was a boy from District 4, named Joe Hart, who had been expected to do well, only to be killed for stepping off his starting plate before the sixty seconds was up and being blown to pieces. That was only a few years ago, and Santana remembered it well – watching the boy, with his dark eyelids, and his long hair in dreadlocks, dying on the screens in the square.

Santana made her way into the dining hall, where the individual tables for each district had been replaced by one large one, which everyone sat around, smiling, eating, and chatting happily. Santana sat herself down beside the girl from District 10, Brittany Pierce. The two were almost inseparable, and although she didn’t like to admit it, Santana felt butterflies in her stomach every time the other girl would laugh. She had beautiful eyes, which really sparkled when she discussed her life at home, rearing the livestock that would feed the Capitol. A little further down from the table was the male from District 10, Blaine Anderson, who was discussing this morning’s breakfast with the boy from District 8, Kurt Hummel.

District 8 was in charge of textiles, and Kurt relished the remaining days where he could wear what he liked, before they were all thrown into the plain outfits to be worn in the arena. He looked around the table, examining what each of his fellow tributes was wearing. He particularly admired Quinn Fabray’s clothing, but she too was from District 8, and so her refined sense of style was to be expected. He laughed to himself as he watched her, mesmerised by the plate of bacon in front of her, and by the pretty brown haired girl sat opposite – Rachel Berry, from District 9. Kurt guessed that whatever the two were discussing, it wasn’t textiles or the grain which District 9 produced, as they were both smiling, their eyes occasionally breaking contact to flicker around the room.

Nobody but Kurt particularly noticed their actions. Mike Chang, also from District 9, was busy discussing with Tina Cohen-Chang what life was like in their own districts. Tina was from District 11, where large orchards and fields of grass produced enough agriculture for the whole of Lima. District 11’s male, Rory Flanagan, was chatting to Mercedes Jones from District 7, which produced lumber, Sam Evans from District 4, which was known for its fishing, and Noah Puckerman and Becky Jackson, both from District 2, who were skilled in the tough job of masonry, and for whom the grounds’ quarry had been created. Unbeknownst to Kurt, he was being watched by Dave Karofsky, a boy whose quiet personality did not match his strong build. He was from District 12, which produced coal, and was the only district to have seen two victors, many, many years ago. His female counterpart, Aphasia, sat silently, eating her scrambled eggs at the end of the table. She alone had avoided too much bonding with the rest of the group, to the extent where nobody even knew her surname. It seemed she was more realistic about the prospect of having to kill everyone around her in a mere two days’ time.

But she was not the only person, however, whose surname remained a mystery. Harmony, from District 4, had been so excited when she first arrived to introduce herself to the other tributes that she had talked incredibly fast, and nobody could understand what she had said. Thankfully, Jeff Sterling, a sweet-natured blond boy from District 6, which focused on transportation, had managed to work out that her first name was Harmony, but her surname had still not yet been determined, and everyone thought it rude to ask. The remaining tributes, made up of Finn Hudson from District 7, Sunshine Corazon from District 6, Jesse from District 5, Artie Abrams and Lauren Zizes from District 3, which produced technology, and Sebastian Smythe and Sugar Motta from District 1, who, as the district produced luxury goods for the Capitol were the richest, were having their own discussion in one large group, when Beiste and Burt entered the room.

Shannon Beiste and Burt were both previous victors from the Games, and had been assigned as mentors to the tributes. Beiste handled the boys, and was known for her no-nonsense attitudes. Burt looked after the girls, and was a favourite amongst the districts, as his victory in the Games had been particularly unexpected, as he had been up against another boy named Ken Tanaka, who may have lacked intelligence, but more than made up for it in brute strength. Breakfast ended, and the tributes split up into the two groups for what they believed was yet another day of training.

The training sessions were a challenge. The tributes faced having to retain a delicate balance between training enough to survive in the arena, and not showing off their skills too much to their future rivals. As the days wound down, and the Games became ever near, it was particularly essential that the tributes knew how to use some of the weapons they may be presented with in the arena, and that they could start a fire, and set traps to catch food. Different tributes were skilled in different areas. Brittany was particularly good at coaxing animals towards her, she had a natural affinity for them, and it seemed to the others that she could almost even communicate with them. Rory, with his agricultural home-life, could spot poisonous berries from harmless ones, Dave could live weights of almost double his own weight, and Sugar, who could afford training back in District 1, despite its illegality, was incredibly fast and nimble.

Today however, Burt did not lead the group to the training room, but instead to a drawing room, where he instructed the girls to be seated on one of the many couches.

“Why aren’t we training?” Tina asked.  
“Because today I’ve been instructed to prepare you for the Games,” Burt replied.  
“Does that mean we’ve finished training now?” Rachel asked quickly.  
“Yes,” Burt nodded. “Tomorrow you’ll meet with the stylist to prepare for the interviews, and then it’ll be time for you to enter the arena.”

They were surprised, to say the least. Two days did not seem very long at all. Burt remained standing awkwardly, looking down at the girls, whose mouths were all slightly open in shock. They were relying on him to prepare them for the harrowing days ahead, and there was little he could say that would be of true use, or of comfort and meaning.

“The main thing you need to focus on is staying alive,” Burt continued.  
“Isn’t that kind of the point?” Aphasia said, rolling her eyes.  
“Well yes, but you need to remember to eat when you can,” Burt said. “And to keep warm. You’ll be surprised how often kids die from frostbite rather than being attacked.”  
“We’re not surprised,” Quinn said quietly. “We’ve been watching it happen all our lives.”

Burt sighed; Quinn was right, and there was little he or anyone else could do about it.

“Just remember girls,” Burt said. “You matter. They can put you into the arena and force you to kill each other, but they can’t take away your humanity. Since you’ve been in this house you’ve all bonded, and teamwork is the key to surviving in the arena. Today may be your last chance to all have fun as a group, so I suggest you use the rest of the day wisely.”

He nodded, more to himself than the girls, and made to leave the room. As he was heading out of the door, he stopped, and turned around.

“If any of you want to come and see me privately about some more training, you’re welcome to. It would be a good opportunity to work on your skills without revealing them to everyone else.”

With that, he was gone. The girls looked at each other somewhat suspiciously. It seemed as if everything had become real for the first time. This was their last proper day together, some of which may be spent training to kill everyone else. They were no longer friends, but children lining up for the slaughter. Aphasia was the first to stand, and leave the room.

“Do you think she’s going to Burt’s training session?” Lauren asked.  
“Probably,” Santana nodded. “She’s never really been keen on the whole ‘group’ thing.”  
“But do any of you think you could do it?” Harmony asked in her usual rushed manner, her eyes glinting. “Kill her, I mean.”  
“I don’t think I could kill anyone,” Sunshine replied, shaking her head.  
“I’d rip out her hair and drag her down to hell myself if I had to,” Becky said.

She stood up, and marched out of the room, leaving everyone in stunned silence. Gradually, the others began to file out, leaving Santana and Brittany alone.

“San, are you going to a training session?”  
“No, Britt,” Santana shook her head. “I’m spending my last free day with you.”  
“Awesome,” Brittany grinned.

Tentatively, she held out her hand, and Santana took it in her own. Brittany laughed, and stuck out her tongue, before pulling Santana out of the room, along the corridor, down some short steps, out of the house itself and into the grounds.

“Where are you taking me?” Santana laughed.  
“You’ll see,” Brittany smiled.

They eventually stopped at a small fountain, surrounded by hedges, marked by small, white benches. Everything was pristine – the house was used for about two weeks a year and kept perfect for the rest. Brittany perched on one of the benches, and Santana followed suit, sitting next to her. Their hands remained intertwined.

“This might be the last few hours we have together,” Brittany began, seemingly nervous. “So I wanted to make the most of it.”

Santana’s gaze dropped from Brittany’s to the gravelled ground. Brittany squeezed her hand tightly.

“San?”  
“Don’t, Britt,” Santana said.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing was. In a few days they’d be parted, forever. This couldn’t be happening now. Not when it seemed that they’d found each other. Brittany let go of Santana’s hand, and raised it to her chin, lifting her face so that their eyes met once more.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, San,” Brittany said.

Santana nodded. Normally she’d be the fiercely protective one, but with Brittany it didn’t seem to matter. After a second’s hesitation, Brittany leaned in, and kissed her.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana Lopez opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. She shifted in her bed, feeling the arm wrapped around her. Brittany smiled.

“Morning,” she said, biting her lip slightly.  
“Morning,” Santana smiled.

She sat up, leaning into Brittany, stealing her warmth and claiming it as her own.

“How are we gonna explain this to everyone?” Brittany laughed.  
“Fuck ‘em,” Santana shrugged.

She climbed out of bed, trying to find her underwear. It didn’t matter that she looked like a mess – today the stylist was coming to make her beautiful. When Brittany and Santana appeared at breakfast, a sombre silence had taken over. Not even Harmony was talking. They finished their breakfast without saying a word, before moving into one of the large, ornate sitting rooms. One by one, Burt or Beiste came to collect them, not feeling the need to speak either. Sugar was the first one to be taken, as the female from District 1. She followed Burt nervously up the richly carpeted stairs into a white, blank room, where she was told to remove her clothes, leaving only her underwear. Shortly after, the Games’ famous stylist, Emma Pillsbury, a beautiful redhead, entered the room.

“Hello, take a seat,” she said, her voice sweet.

Sugar sat down obediently, waiting warily as Emma surveyed her, nodding occasionally, or even frowning.

“This shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said. “Just a quick waxing here and there, and we’ll pick out your outfit for the interview together, shall we?”

Sugar nodded, as Emma began to remove waxing strips from a white bag. Coming from District 1, waxing Sugar took only a short time. It was easier having more money – you could afford luxuries that others couldn’t.

“How old are you?” Emma asked.  
“Sixteen,” Sugar replied, as Emma put away her strips.  
“I think for your outfit we’ll go for something that makes you look young, it’s a good strategy to play in the Games,” Emma said. “Play up your vulnerabilities.”

If truth be told, Sugar did feel vulnerable. Everyone in Lima would have expected her to have been trained, and to thus already have an advantage in the Games, but she’d always preferred to imagine that she would never be picked, and so only trained occasionally to improve her speed and agility at her father’s insistence. She knew others who never got to be children, who were too busy training for the Games, who were lost when they were never chosen, and she didn’t want to be like that.

She remembered the day of the reaping well; the man from the Capitol, Carl Howell, with his glittering gold skin and his pearly white teeth, pulling her name from the ornate glass globe. She remembered the look in her father’s eyes; not of panic, but of excitement. It was his chance to show his daughter off to everyone – he cared little for what Sugar felt. She was so numb she barely even heard Sebastian’s name being called. He bounced up upon the stage, like an excitable meerkat, and winked at her. His family wasn’t as rich, but they were well liked, and Sebastian was seen as a bit of a poster boy, someone whom Sugar’s father would have preferred for a child, preferred to the scared little girl he had now.

“I’ve kept your makeup minimalistic,” Emma said, throwing Sugar a lifeline, rescuing her from the sea of emotions that threatened to drown her. “To play up your young nature, and I think I have the perfect outfit, let me go and look.”

She left the room, leaving Sugar feeling more alone than ever.

“Smythe, it’s your turn,” Beiste said.

Sugar hadn’t returned, so Sebastian had little idea what to expect as he was led to the white room. Emma had once again vanished, and Sebastian was instructed to take off everything but his underwear. He slipped his socks and shoes off, neatly folded his trousers, and was slipping out of his shirt when Emma entered the room. Normally the tributes would stand there nervously, but Sebastian almost seemed more confident in only his underwear.

“Have you had any thoughts about the angle we should go for?” Emma asked.  
“Sex,” Sebastian said simply.

Emma was a little shocked, but hid it under a smile.

“Alright,” she nodded. “Let’s begin.”

A few of the tributes were easy to primp and find clothes for, but as they day progressed Emma found herself having to overcome many demanding obstacles. Becky insisted on being dressed as the sexiest bitch anyone had ever seen anywhere, Lauren wanted something that would reflect her childhood spent wrestling men in their forties, Sam kept asking if there were any bolo ties, Sunshine, as not only the shortest, but also, at fifteen, the youngest, was too small to fit in the majority of the clothes available, whilst Finn was the polar opposite, and was too tall for many of the suit trousers, Kurt dressed himself, before giving Emma a makeover and picking her out a new wardrobe, Rachel wanted something that just screamed sexy schoolgirl librarian chic, Blaine refused to wear socks, and insisted on a bow tie, and Rory would wear only green. But despite all of this, Emma managed to provide what she believed to be her best set of clothes yet.

The evening came, and the twenty-four tributes assembled in the biggest living room to wait their turn for the interview. It would be taking place in a special room in the house containing only two chintz patterned, comfortable armchairs. It was supposed to be intimate – an opportunity to show your personality off to the rest of Lima – but it was more frightening than anything. Sue Sylvester was a previous victor of the Games, and had the record for the fastest victory with just twelve hours, as well as the fastest kill – a curly haired boy named Will Schuester, whom she shot through the temple with an arrow, and subsequently used his body to protect herself from attacks from the other tributes. Sugar was the first to be called in, wearing a summery yellow dress that made her look more youthful, and was offered a quick pat of good luck from Burt as she entered the room.

“And first up, Lima, we have Sugar Motta, the female tribute from District 1,” Sue said, addressing the camera.

Manning the camera was a creepy man named Jacob Ben Israel, who tended to ogle at the female tributes and had once wet himself during the filming of a particularly scary interview with Sue.

“Welcome Sugar,” Sue continued. “Sit down, sit down, that’s it. Now, tell us about yourself.”  
“My name’s Sugar,” Sugar began nervously.

Sue rolled her eyes, and slapped her knee irritably with her hands, playing it up to the audience at home.

“Why don’t you tell us something we don’t know,” she said abruptly. “This year has shown an unusual affinity between the tributes. Is it like that when the cameras aren’t there?”  
“Oh yes,” Sugar nodded, a little more bravely. “We’re like a big family. We all sit down together at meals, and we hang out and sing songs in our spare time.”  
“Why don’t you sing a little something for us now?” Sue asked.  
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Sugar blushed, reaffirming her childish façade. “Santana always tells me to sing quietly in the background, I’m not really as good as everyone else.”

She looked away slightly at that, and Sue knew it was the perfect time to play up her rarely shown sympathetic side with the audience.

“I bet you sing just fine, Sugar,” she said. “Just give us a little tune.”

A quiet croaking escaped Sugar’s lips, and before she could even get a full note out, Sue wrinkled her nose.

“I think perhaps Santana had it right, didn’t she folks?” she smiled at the camera.

She knew that there would be laughs from the people in the Capitol. Across the rest of Lima, the inhabitants of the districts remained almost rebelliously silent, as the camera zoomed in on Sugar’s embarrassed and upset face. There was a short ringing sound, and Sue leapt to her feet. Sugar stood up too, and shook hands with Sue.

“Best of luck in the Games, Sugar Motta,” she said. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sugar scurried out of the room, wiping away a small tear that had escape from her eye, as Sebastian entered. He swaggered confidently over to Sue, and winked at her. He was wearing black jeans, with a white short-sleeve shirt which showed off his muscular arms, complete with black braces, and a black pork pie hat, his hair gelled neatly underneath it.

“Here we have Sebastian Smythe, District 1’s male tribute,” Sue said, addressing the camera once more. “Now, you have a lot of fans, both male and female, in the Capitol, where you’re known as quite the sex symbol. Care to comment?”  
“Well, I am only seventeen, but I’m used to it,” Sebastian shrugged.  
“A little modesty goes a long way every now and then,” Sue replied calmly.

It was like a staring match between them, and eventually Sebastian’s eyes flickered away. The rest of the interviews continued in much the same way. Whether the tributes presented themselves as confident, funny, or nice, Sue shot them down, and the audience watching from the Capitol loved it. The only tribute she seemed to bond with was Becky, who was wearing a short black dress, a pair of black high heels, and some intricate netting on a small black hat fixed to her hair, and that was only once they’d gotten past the initial awkward stages. The Games had never had a tribute with Down Syndrome before, and the audience watched with bated breath to see if Sue would treat her with the same bemused contempt.

“Next up we have Becky Jackson, from District 2,” she said.  
“What’s up Sue?” Becky asked, bouncing onto her seat happily.

Sue seemed taken aback. Normally she would destroy any tribute who tried the familiarity tactic, but this time, she decided to run with it.

“Not a lot, Becky, just the same old drudgery interviewing tributes,” she replied.  
“I feel you,” Becky nodded.  
“Now, tell me, you scored a 7 in your training, which is just above average for this year’s scores,” Sue said. “How do you rate your chances in the Games?”  
“I feel like I’ve gained twenty-four new friends,” Becky replied. “But if I have to take any of them out I will.”

Sue laughed, her eyes gleaming with respect.

“Who would you say was your main competition in the Games?” she asked.  
“There are a few to watch out for,” Becky said. “I wouldn’t like to cross Santana, she’s very protective of Brittany, and Jesse could kill if he wanted to.”  
“You heard it here folks,” Sue nodded to the camera. “District 5 are the ones to beat! Well, I don’t know about the audience at home, Becky Jackson, but I’ll be rooting for you.”

She even allowed a show of weakness by returning the sudden embrace from Becky, who skipped off happily from the room. Next up was Puck, wearing a plaid shirt and some jeans, followed by Lauren, who Emma had convinced to abandon the idea of wearing wrestling gear, and had instead been fitted into a black cardigan patterned with large white dots, and a skirt and some leggings, who both talked about the strength they possessed, and shortly after, Artie wheeled into the room, wearing a yellow shirt, with black trousers and braces. For once, he had taken off the gloves he seemed to wear constantly. Sue left the second chintz chair in its place, forcing Artie to place his wheelchair awkwardly behind it.

“Now, Artie Abrams from District 3, I, like the rest of Lima, would like to know what your strategy for the Games is,” Sue said, glancing at his wheelchair. “Just how fast can you roll on that thing?”

Jacob let out a nervous laugh, earning him a glare from Sue.

“Fast enough,” Artie replied. “It’s been discussed, that, if I can get enough sponsors beforehand, I’ll be given a ReWalk suit.”  
“A ReWalk suit?” Sue asked.  
“Something to help me walk with, so I have an equal and fair chance,” Artie said.  
“Well let’s hope that the sponsors find you less boring than I have,” Sue said dismissively. “And what’s your strategy if they don’t?”  
“Hopefully someone will team up with me,” Artie replied. “I’ll wheel and they can shoot.”  
“And you can slow them down too,” Sue nodded. “Good strategy, pal.”

Thankfully, the bell rang, sparing Artie from further humiliation. The next four tributes, Harmony, wearing a dark blue dress with white polka dots, Sam, who had managed to find a bolo tie, which he wore with a white shirt and black suit, Santana, looking beautiful in a red dress, and Jesse, who wore a grey shirt with a black tie and a black waistcoat, held themselves remarkably well, before Sunshine, looking pretty in a black and white stripped top, with a yellow cardigan, nervously answered her questions, and not long after, Jeff, decked out in a thin plaid jacket and white t-shirt, entered the room.

“And here we have Jeffrey Sterling, from District 6,” Sue announced. “Now tell us, what exactly does the transportation district do anyway?”

A big laugh from the Capitol. It was a running joke that District 6 was pretty much useless – everyone in the Capitol already had transportation, and nobody could afford it in any of the districts. Jeff laughed it off good naturedly, but he knew that back home his family wouldn’t have taken it so lightly. They worked incredibly hard, only to be treated like a joke.

“Tell me about some of the people at home,” Sue said. “You’re young, good looking, is there a girl waiting back for you?”  
“No,” Jeff shook his head. “Only my friend Nick.”  
“Oh, well, whatever makes you happy,” Sue gave the camera a knowing look. “Who would you say you are closest to amongst the tributes?”  
“Probably Sunshine, because she’s from my district too,” Jeff said, recovering his composure after Sue’s comment. “But when I’ve talked to Rachel I’ve gotten on pretty well with her.”  
“And what would you say to the rumours that she prefers another blonde?” Sue asked.

It seemed that not only Kurt had spotted Rachel and Quinn’s closeness. It was so easy to forget that most of the time there was a camera discreetly watching their every move.

“I… I don’t know,” Jeff said quietly.  
“And what would you respond to the critics who have said that this year’s Games is the gayest yet?” Sue asked.

Jeff looked confused. It was never something they’d really discussed in the house, He was pretty sure that Sebastian, Blaine and Kurt were gay, and he thought he’d seen Dave glancing over at Kurt a few times. Everyone knew how close Santana and Brittany were, and then there was Quinn and Rachel, and the own burning in his heart for the boy back home. But they’d never talked about it.

“I don’t think it’s anyone’s business,” Jeff said firmly.

Sue raised her eyebrow, hoping for something more, but it never came. The bell rang, and Jeff was dismissed sharply. The rest of the interviews passed with a few more nuggets that were sure to entertain the Capitol, including when Quinn was described as a younger version of Sue and she looked horrified, when Blaine was forced to endure a five minute rant on the hideousness of his bowtie, and when Sue had absolutely no idea what Rory was saying with his accent. But by far the most awkward was Rachel’s interview. She entered the room, wearing a blue dress with a cream bow belt tied around the waist, already nervous after hearing Jeff’s questions, preparing herself for the worst.

“Sit down, Rachel Berry, from District 9,” Sue said, indicating to the seat opposite.

Rachel sat down, and remained silent, waiting for Sue to speak once more.

“Throughout the footage we’ve seen, you been proven to be a very ambitious young lady,” Sue continued. “It’s even been suggestion that you’re playing a very elaborate game.”  
“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Rachel said quickly. “I’m just trying to work on keeping myself alive so that I can return back home to my dads’ grain plant. I’m quite well known there, you see, as the… moderately pretty girl with the beautiful singing voice.”  
“I’m sure you are,” Sue replied drily. “So are you saying that Quinn Fabray means nothing to you? Are you lying your way into the viewers’ and the sponsors’ hearts?”

Rachel frowned. Clearly, she couldn’t win either way.

“I care for her, like I care for all of my other fellow tributes,” Rachel said, hesitation creeping into her voice.

Sue leaned in, preparing to deliver the final, killer question.

“And if it came down to it, if you and Quinn were the last two, could you kill her?”


	4. Chapter 4

After the final interview, in which Sue called Dave boring and sent him out before the bell rang, the tributes changed back into their own clothes, and congregated in the large living room once more. It was nearly dark outside, but nobody felt tired. By this time tomorrow they would have entered the Games, and some of them would be dead. It was Harmony who eventually broke the silence.

“How about one last song?” she asked in her usual excitable manner. “You know, like a final goodbye.”

Most of the others nodded in agreement. Rachel seemed ready to take the lead, when Sugar began to sing.

“What would you think if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song, and I’ll try not sing out of key.”

This earned some laughs from the others, who moved into the group a little closer, and began to join in.

“Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends, oh, I get high with a little help from my friends, oh, I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends.”

Unseen by the tributes, peeking round the edge of the door, Burt and Beiste smiled at each other, before making their way quietly out of the room. In the morning, the pair returned to the living room, to find all twenty-four kids still perched on various couches, or the floor, asleep.

“Let’s just give them five more minutes,” Burt said quietly.

Meanwhile, across Lima, President Figgins awoke with a smile. Today was the day of the Games, and it was about to get very messy.

“Good luck girls,” Burt said.

After being woken, they were dressed for the first time, much to Kurt’s dismay, in the clothes they would wear for the entirety of the Games, before they were transported to where the event would take place. Burt and Beiste remained with them the whole way, right up to the underground passages underneath the arena, where the kids would stand on their platforms and be raised into the game.

“When you get into the arena you’ll be at the cornucopia, where there will be weapons, food, camping equipment and medicine,” Burt continued.

Not far away, Beiste was giving the boys the same speech.

“Traditionally, the cornucopia is a blood bath” she said. “Hopefully this year, with your friendship, you’ll all amicably part ways, and you can avoid any deaths.”  
“It’s unlikely, however,” Burt told the girls. “I know some of you have come to me for extra training, and Shannon has told me that some of the boys have gone to her too. My advice would be to avoid the cornucopia, and get out of there as fast as you can. Find water, that’ll be your best bet for survival. I want you all to do me proud out there.”

The girls nodded.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Burt,” Quinn smiled.  
“You’ve be amazing,” Mercedes agreed.  
“Yeah, you’ve been fine,” Aphasia nodded. “But I’m not staying out of the cornucopia.”  
“Why not?” Burt frowned.  
“Because, Burt,” Aphasia said, rolling her eyes. “That’s where they keep the weapons.”

Five minutes to go. The boys remained quiet, nervous. Suddenly, Beiste spoke, making them jump.

“Artie, I almost forgot! I managed to sort some sponsors for you,” she said. “Here’s your ReWalk.”

She stepped aside, and Artie was faced with what looked like a metal frame in the shape of two legs. Mike and Sam hurried to help him out of the chair, whilst Rory and Finn lifted the ReWalk. Puck helped to clip it on the sides of Artie’s legs, and, tentatively, he placed his weight on them. To his surprise, they held firm, and he found himself able to let go of the boys and stand on his own. He had waited for this moment since he was eight years old, trapped in the hot twisted metal of one of the technology units, crying in pain from the searing heat burning his legs.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered.

He attempted to take a few steps, before breaking into a light, circular jog. The other boys laughed at his delight, breaking the previous tension.

“That’s fantastic, Artie,” Jesse smiled warmly.  
“More competition for us,” Sebastian said, though his eyes sparkled, giving away his happiness.  
“Congratulations, Artie,” Jeff nodded.

Beiste reluctantly broke up the happiness, her eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s time to take your places boys.”  
“Thank you for everything,” Sam said, and the boys nodded in agreement.

They looked around at each other, no one wanting to be the first to step on a plate. With a deep breath, Puck took the plate nearest, and was quickly followed by Sebastian, Jesse, Dave and Finn. The rest of the boys took their places, and slowly, the glass descended over the plates, effectively trapping them in. Not far away, the girls did the same. Each tribute gave one last look at their mentor. Emma should have been there too, but she was too emotional to say goodbye. And then, without another word, the plates rose up to the arena.

“Wow,” Rachel gasped.

The round plates had risen into a large, rocky landscape that went on for miles. Grey skies blended with even greyer rocks, with hints of green from some trees in the distance. About twenty metres away lay the cornucopia – a giant, golden, horn shaped object with a curved, twisting tail. Rachel could see in its entrance several weapons and backpacks, no doubt containing medicine and other useful items. She glanced to her left, and her eyes met with Quinn’s. The sixty seconds in which they were required to remain standing on their plates was almost up. Almost imperceptibly, Quinn shook her head. Rachel glanced back at the cornucopia – Quinn was telling her to avoid it.

Five… Four… Three… Two… One.


End file.
